


to bury the castle

by Dawn_Blossom



Series: Chrom/Grima in Askr [7]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: M/M, basically this is just Morgan's family reacting to her trying to get her memories back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 09:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17057225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: Morgan doesn't miss her memories... does she?





	to bury the castle

**Author's Note:**

> I love Morgan and she deserves 10 billion hugs.
> 
> Title is from [Brick by Boring Brick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A63VwWz1ij0) by Paramore, which is another song I heard on a Morgan playlist that made me go "Oh! That IS a Morgan song!"
> 
> Anyway... I hope you enjoy the fic. I just can't stop thinking about this family...

Lucina quite likes Morgan. The younger girl always seems so cheerful, standing in stark contrast to her father’s brooding image. Grima and Morgan are actually quite alike, though; it can be seen in the way they move in battle, in the way they pore over their books in quiet study, in the way they smirk when they think they’re being particularly clever.

When she thinks about it, it feels somewhat strange to know the two of them so well that she can describe their mannerisms with such familiarity. The fell dragon and his servants once haunted her nightmares. But Grima and Morgan are so unlike those dark figures, so much more real and human that it almost hurts. She cannot help but think about her world and all of its what-ifs. What if she could have saved them? What if her father hadn’t died? Could they have lived their lives together, peaceful and happy in Ylisse? She cannot forget the words the Grima of her world spoke to her. She cannot forget that he wished for a different life, too.

Perhaps that is why she is so fond of the Grima she now knows. 

It’s the same with Morgan, though Lucina can’t recall ever conversing with her. The fell dragon was all alone when Lucina delivered her final blow. She wonders if his daughter mourned him out of sight, or if she was even alive at all by that point. Lucina never again caught even a glimpse of her shadowy figure after the fell dragon’s defeat. 

But now, Lucina has the chance to forge a bond with the girl. Morgan’s lack of memories certainly has not equated to a lack of personality. In many ways, she is Lucina’s foil. She is adventurous where Lucina is restrained, open-minded where Lucina is cautious, and cheerful where Lucina is subdued. But they are similar in some aspects, Lucina feels. They are both willful, passionate and driven, and steeled with determination.

In worlds like theirs, they had to be.

In any case, Lucina is not disturbed that they are similar, nor is she bothered by their differences. Morgan simply is who she is, and she lives her life in a simple and straightforward way that Lucina sometimes wishes she could emulate.

And maybe it’s because she so admires Morgan’s unfettered self that she immediately notices one evening that something is off.

She finds Morgan alone in the library, but this is not in itself unusual. What _is_ unusual is the look of consternation on her face. The tome lying on the table in front of her displays symbols that Lucina does not have the training to understand. Morgans traces them with her hand, though her eyes are closed.

“Why isn’t it working…?” she whispers. “I can feel the magic. So why…?”

“Why isn’t _what_ working?” Lucina interrupts.

Morgan squeaks, hastily shutting her book.

“Lucina, gods!” she exclaims. “Give a girl some warning! You’re as quiet as death!”

Lucina frowns.

“Truth be told, I’m rather surprised you failed to notice me,” she says. “You’re not nearly as oblivious as you pretend to be.”

“Ha… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Morgan smiles broadly. “Did you want something from me?”

“Yes.” Lucina narrows her eyes. “I want you to explain what you’re trying to hide from me.”

“Well…” Morgan places a finger to her mouth in thought. She doesn’t bother to hide the fact that she’s hiding something, but then, she doesn’t _have_ to, as Lucina doubts she’ll figure it out without Morgan’s explanation. 

“I hope you feel you can trust me...” Lucina says. She cannot help but worry sometimes. She must have been Morgan’s enemy once. What if there is still animosity lingering beneath all that cheer?

“Sure I do,” Morgan says. “But, hmm… Promise you won’t tell Father?”

“You… You want me to keep something from _Grima?_ ” Lucina asks incredulously. “I thought you two had that whole ‘blunt honesty’ thing in common? Besides, it’s probably impossible. He’ll find out we’re keeping secrets from him, and he’ll give us this sad look like he’s personally failed us. Can _you_ withstand that look?”

“No…” Morgan frowns. “That’s why I’d rather he not find out in the first place…”

Lucina sighs. Morgan is also incredibly talented at looking sad.

“Oh, fine. I’ll play it your way.” She leans forward. “I swear i won’t tell Grima about it, but at least explain why you’re practicing magic in the library… We do have training grounds, as I’m well aware you know.”

Morgan pushes the tome she was using before towards Lucina.

“It’s not combat magic,” she says. “It’s more focused on the human mind. And memory…”

Lucina flips through a couple pages, but it all appears to be in a script she doesn’t know.

“And you say you can’t get it to work?” Lucina asks. “Are you trying to use it on yourself? That might not be the intended use for… Oh…”

Now it hits her why Morgan would not want her father to know what she’s doing.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Morgan says quietly. “I can feel the magic trying to work. I can bring back other memories, like what I ate for dinner two weeks ago, but when it comes to the important things… there’s nothing.”

“Morgan…” Lucina wishes she were better at offering comfort. She vaguely remembers running into her father’s arms as a child, but that certainly isn’t something she can re-enact with Morgan. And once the fell dragon took over, well… Even though there was no comfort to be found, Lucina just had to get used to pressing onward. So press onward she does. “I thought you were happy despite your amnesia?”

“I am,” Morgan says. “But… I want to remember. Don’t you of all people understand?”

“I… I’m trying to,” Lucina says, taken aback. Why her “of all people”?

“If you forgot all your bad memories,” Morgan says, meeting Lucina’s eyes, “wouldn’t you still want to get them back? Even if you were happy? Wouldn’t you think it was important?”

Lucina frowns. She would. But…

“I have obligations that you do not,” she says. She is the Exalt. She cannot ever afford to forget that. She has a country of survivors who have suffered every bit as much as she has. If she forgets and abandons her duties, who would take care of them?

“I could have obligations, too,” Morgan says. “At least, I know I have a desire. To tell the truth…”

“You’re not lying about anything if you really can’t remember,” Lucina points out. “At any rate, I don’t think you should be worried. If it were really a problem, your father would certainly tell you. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Morgan begins to sigh, but then her eyes suddenly light up.

“Of course!” she exclaims, standing up. “Thank you, Lucina!”

“Er… You’re welcome?” Lucina blinks. “Where are you going?”

“To bed!” Morgan smiles widely. “I need to borrow one of Father’s books, but I’m sure it’s too late for me to bother him right now. I’ll just wait until morning!”

“Er, right…” Morgan is gone in the blink of an eye.

“I guess I’ll just put this back…” Lucina scoops up Morgan’s abandoned tome. Of course, it’s hard to put something back when you have no idea where it came from and cannot even read the characters on it to identify it.

She sighs heavily, finally understanding why Alfonse makes heroes get permission before using the library.

* * *

Chrom practically lives in Grima’s room these days. It is not merely that he spends time there, or that he sleeps there, for those things are only to be expected given their relationship. But over time, Chrom’s own room, graciously given to him when he joined the Order of Heroes, has become almost empty. All of Chrom’s important possessions rest in Grima’s space.

Case in point: the Falchion was not in Chrom’s room when he checked, because—Chrom now remembers—he was still wearing it when he went to see Grima the previous night, and he never removed it from where it had fallen on the floor.

It is not much of inconvenience to backtrack, but he hopes that he will not run into Grima before he can retrieve the sword. It was a mistake to leave his weapon lying around, and he does not like to make mistakes. When Grima comments on them, Chrom wonders if he is becoming useless to his lover. When Grima makes no remark, Chrom wonders if he is becoming unimportant to him.

Fortunately, he is able to slip back into the room unnoticed.

Or, at least, unnoticed by _Grima._

“Chrom!” Morgan shrieks. She stumbles backwards, but she is already so close to the wall that she trips on it. As she falls to the floor, she drops the book she was holding over her head, and it hits her with a thump before rebounding to the floor.

“Gods!” In an instant, Chrom is kneeling at her side. “Are you alright, Morgan?”

“Uh…” Morgan looks upwards for a moment, then frowns. “Damn it… Even that didn’t do anything…”

“What were you trying to do?” Chrom asks, holding a hand out. “I, er, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” Morgan grabs onto him, and they stand up together. “I was just trying to get some memories of my old world back.”

“By reading… an Askran dictionary?” Chrom narrows his eyes. “I don’t see how that would help.”

“Well, duh, _reading_ it’s not going to make me remember anything,” she says. “I thought bashing it over my head might stir something up, though. But even though it got me on the way down, I don’t remember anything more than I did a minute ago.”

“That’s…” Chrom frowns. “That’s not a very good strategy. Relying on a physical accident to return your memory to you? Morgan, you’re far smarter than that.”

“Right. That was dumb, wasn’t it?” Morgan laughs. “Obviously gravity’s not that dependable! I just need to give it the old Morgan touch! Hey, do you think it would be better to slam it down on top of my head, or go for the side like I’m slapping it, or—”

“Er…” Chrom quickly picks the book up himself. It has to be one of the heaviest texts Grima owns, and he supposes that is why Morgan picked it. “That’s not what I meant. Is getting your memories back really so essential that you would risk doing yourself serious injury?”

Morgan looks down.

“It could be,” she says. “I… I don’t _know!_ ”

Her outburst is accompanied by a glare. Though her eyes are not red, it is in every other way identical to a look her father has worn. It is a hard expression, and full of anger, but most importantly, tinged with a vulnerable desperation, a pain that staves cannot soothe.

Slowly, he places a hand on her shoulder. She is not her father, and Chrom is not sure that his support is in any way helpful to her. But it is all he can give, a showing that she is not alone.

Morgan closes her eyes, leaning slightly into the touch.

“I wish I could remember _you,_ ” she murmurs. “You’re so nice to Father and me…”

Chrom frowns, but before he can speak, Morgan chuckles softly.

“But that’s not going to happen, right?” Blinking her eyes back open, she meets his gaze. “I don’t have my memories, but I have ears. What everyone says about the ‘bad timelines,’ the worlds where Father rules… They all start with you dying.”

“Morgan, I…”

“Father doesn’t remember anything, and I don’t remember anything, so everyone else gets to say whatever they want,” Morgan continues. “I want to remember what happened. I want to know what Father did, and why…”

“Have you talked to him about it?” Chrom asks. “Memories or no, I think he suspects the truth.”

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Morgan says dismissively. “I’m not going to question him, knowing that. If I get my memories back, I can figure out the answer on my own.”

She brushes past him towards the door, apparently intending the conversation to be over. Before she steps out, however, she turns to him briefly.

“The Falchion is under the bed, by the way,” she says. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t leave dragonslaying weapons where my father could step on them.”

With that, she is gone, and Chrom is left wondering whether he did any good at all.

* * *

Grima is furious.

“Just _what_ did you think you were going to accomplish,” he demands, “by _running head-first into a wall?_ ”

She would have done it, too, had Grima not been walking outside just as she was preparing to ram her head against the castle’s outer walls.

Morgan grimaces.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, but...” she says. “I was trying to recover my memories.”

“The memories that no magic or rituals have worked to bring back?” Grima asks incredulously.

“When the enemy resists a magical attack, you try a physical one,” Morgan says. “It’s basic strategy, Father.”

“For war, child!” Grima growls. “Does this look like a battlefield? If you want your blood and guts strewn about, I’m sure we can find some enemy generals to oblige you!”

Morgan stares back at him unflinchingly. She is not afraid of his ire, and for that Grima is grateful, if only because he cannot divert his rage at the moment.

“I’m not trying to get hurt!” she insists. “But I can’t just give up! If something doesn’t work, I’ll just try it in a different way! I don’t care how much it hurts; as long as I’m alive, I’ll never stop trying!”

“For what reason?” Grima asks. “You have all of two memories in your head. Has it occurred to you that those may be the only things worth remembering? You’re wasting your time!”

“How do you know?” Morgan challenges. “Nobody else knows anything about what we were like in our worlds! And they’ll _never_ know anything except for the fact we were evil unless one of us tells them otherwise…”

“Morgan…” Grima’s fury dims, outweighed now by guilt. Her loyalty to him is the only reason the other heroes have to distrust her, but it is a strong one. He knows their looks of hatred and contempt, though he is receiving less of them lately. 

“I’m only trying to defend you, Father,” Morgan says. “Defend _us._ Like I always have.”

“You don’t need to,” Grima says. 

“Huh?” Morgan blinks.

“You don’t have to defend what you did, and you certainly need not defend me,” Grima says. “Indeed, it will only hinder you in this world if you try to cling to those times. The heroes in this world will judge you by your actions here. You are hardworking and steadfast, which they can all see. You will get along with them better if you do not talk of aiding me in the destruction of the world.”

“Are you still planning on destroying the world?” Morgan asks.

If he says that he is, Grima has no doubt that Morgan would still support him. It is amusing to him that humans tout devotion as a virtue when his daughter’s devotion here would spell the end of the world, if he desired it.

“No,” he says. “Not this world. Not where there are humans who can somehow lead their lives without spoiling their souls.”

He is thinking, as he always is, of Chrom. Chrom was the first to show him that goodness existed in the world, because Chrom was the first to care whether Grima could see it. He thinks, too, of Lucina, who surely does not serve her own interests by associating with him, but finds joy in his company nevertheless. And now he knows Morgan, who does not seem to have a selfish bone in her body.

“This world, Zenith… It’s very beautiful,” Morgan says. “I thought home was beautiful, too. But here, everything is so vivid and dynamic. The castle, the battlefields, the people… I like this world a lot.”

“There are plenty of memories you can make here,” Grima says. “Perhaps it is better to let the ones you lost go, and replace them with your new ones.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Morgan asks.

“Yes,” Grima says. 

The fact is, the absence of his memories still aggrieves him. What kind of god loses a part of himself? Unlike Morgan, he still has plenty of memories of cruelty and pain; he could take many more. 

And yet whatever knowledge is lost to him cannot possibly compare to what he has gained from living in this world. If he had the choice between regaining his old memories and keeping his new ones, he would not even need a moment to think about it. Chrom, Lucina, and Morgan mean more to him than some tiny fraction of his mind.

Morgan nods.

“Okay,” she says. “I trust your strategies more than anything, Father. If you think it’s better not to try to recover our memories, then I think I can live without them.

She smiles at him, a gentle grin that is carefree despite the heavy topic of their conversation.

Grima does not understand how a child raised in a world of darkness can shine so brightly.

Nevertheless, he is happy that the past did not break her, and happier still that she will live free from it now.


End file.
